The Games We Play
by thepartwhere
Summary: Amiria has turned her back on the life she once knew, choosing to complete a pretty trio with a pair of cunning sky pirates. After a fateful brush with the sister Ondore announced dead, however, she finds herself ultimately unraveling the past she swore to forget. Sequel to Hide and Seek (oneshot), and AU to The Necessity of Peace. Basch/OC.
1. Freedom

Welcome to The Games We Play! Whether you came here from reading Hide and Seek or just clicked this fic to start with, we want to make a few concepts clear first.

1\. The Games We Play (old version) was once a story on spideydance's account, but she's since become one of us and so the revised version will be posted here.

2\. This is an OC story - the OC being Rasler's sister who is the same age as Ashe.

3\. If you read the original TGWP, you'll find a LOT of familiar things here in the revised version, but also a lot of differences. Just as a heads up! It's your prerogative to compare, obviously, but TGWP was written when spideydance was much younger, so Amiria as a character will change a little bit here.

4\. The oneshot that precedes this, Hide and Seek, was also revised and is on our account. We suggest you read it. It's not THAT vital, but it does have a few story points that may matter.

5\. Something to note is that in this fic/this series, Ashe and Rasler were sort of arranged to be wed/there were talks of their marriage since their childhood. Cue the This Is Not My Idea song from The Swan Princess.

6\. Though The Games We Play and The Necessity of Peace are AUs of each other, the flashbacks shown in both stories are applicable to both, since it is the same Amiria with the same past in both stories - just with a different choice between freedom and duty (series title drop!). (Just in case you're interested in reading both stories.)

7\. (2020 edit:) Just a reminder that we've aged up Ashe and Rasler, and therefore, Amiria. Two years before the game's events, Ashe is 19 (instead of 17), and Rasler is 20; so that when the game's events start, Ashe and Amiria are 21.

8\. ON BASCH: Something I realized while replaying FF12 and going over it to remember everyone's personalities is how we only catch glimpses of Basch's personality. He doesn't say a lot and is very on task, so while I intend to stay true to his character, a lot of what he is outside of his duty as a knight will be headcanons drawn from the little we see of his sense of humor and his personality and circumstances. Please just keep that in mind as the fic goes on.

Read on! Note: sainikah means 'guard.' They're what you call the city guard moving about in Bhujerba.

* * *

**The Games We Play**

_1 - Freedom_

_Freedom._

_Amiria reveled in it. It was why she was clothed in _sainikah _garb, her telltale hair tied into a bun and hidden in their standard issue helmet, sitting on one of the wide stairs of the Khus Skygrounds._

_The royal families of Nabradia and Dalmasca were in town for the Marquis's birthday, and the local troupe was practicing their performance for the state visitors and their celebrant later this evening. Ever eager to spoil herself - if that could be done, because the princess loved every performance regardless of repetition - she watched them eagerly, waiting for them to perfect it._

_The crowd that had gathered below clapped, as did those sitting around the great stairs. Visor lifted, Amiria put her fingers to her mouth, whistling appreciatively with others in the audience while the troupe happily bowed._

_"Talented, are they not?"_

_"Skilled," she corrected the man who had taken her side, biting into a piece of bread she'd brought with her. "They've worked hard. I'm sure the Marquis and the royals will be impressed."_

_"I'm certain you will."_

_Amiria froze. Her eyes turned to the man first, and then her head followed. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile that said he'd caught her._

_Never one to admit losing a game even in the face of defeat, she fought the color that wanted to rise to her cheeks and only cleared her throat._

_"Captain."_

_Basch only smiled. He was wearing casual clothing so as to avoid detection of his own. "Are you ready to return to the estate, Your Highness?"_

_Amiria rose to her feet, sighing as her seeker did the same. "Where is Captain Geir?"_

_"Searching the Kaff Terraces. I will send word."_

_They returned to the Ondore estate, and by then Amiria had the decency to remove her helmet, letting loose sandy blonde locks that matched her brother's. The Marquis met them at the door, giving Basch a grateful nod._

_"So you have a knack for finding the princess. How fortunate," he sighed._

_Rather than dutiful, as Amiria always thought the man looked in the rare times she saw him, Basch now looked embarrassed. "Yes, Your Excellency."_

_She didn't understand, but the Marquis had already dismissed him and turned to her. "Lady Amiria… Would you like to know the birthday gift I wish of you?"_

_Amiria smiled sheepishly. She already knew. "To stay put for a moment?"_

_"You have a knack for reading my mind," said her uncle. "Does the idea of worrying your guards and your family amuse you?"_

_The princess sighed, properly chastised. For her uncle, she would forfeit. "I didn't think my presence necessary until later this evening, when formalities are required. I'm sorry, Uncle Halim."_

_"You are not entirely incorrect… but you understand the current climate, do you not? Showing solidarity - support for the engagement, however expected of you - it is important."_

_She bowed her head. "Yes, uncle."_

_He watched her for a moment, and then rested his hand on shoulder. The Marquis never could be angry with her for too long. "One day, circumstances may require that you, too, marry for the sake of peace."_

_Amiria frowned. It reverted back to a smile once it became clear that such a rare expression on her face had stunned the Marquis._

_"For the sake of peace?" asked Amiria, looking more playful now. "Rasler and Ashe are uniting our kingdoms in marriage. Sake seems like such a… a careless word."_

_Her uncle's failure to conceal his surprise continued. "Very well. For the necessity of peace."_

_His confirmation of it made the princess sigh. The very thought of war pained her. That was Rasler's province. Not hers. "Well," she laughed, shaking it off, "whoever wishes to be bound to me in such a manner would have to beat me at my games, first."_

_This was predictable enough for Halim Ondore to respond to with more exasperation. "Yes. First your betrothed would need to have the patience for you."_

_The remark made Amiria pause, almost recoil in displeasure, but she was better at playacting than he. It was why she was performing for him after the local troupe and not the other way round. Instead, she beamed._

_"Exactly."_

* * *

Freedom.

To think that all of it rested on the treaty-signing nauseated Amiria. What was all this waiting for? Why did they agree to allow King Raminas go without aid?

So much had happened in the past year. Too much, to the point that she no longer felt as though she might only be nineteen. The uniting of the kingdoms of Dalmasca and Nabradia, the complete and utter obliteration of her kingdom and her father and most of their people with it. Rasler's death and that spectre of him on the cathedral.

And now, cornered by the Archadian Empire, King Raminas choosing to shed his kingdom's sovereignty to spare his people. All that was left now was for him to sign the treaty at Nalbina - a 'neutral' area between Dalmasca and Archadia. It was as though Nabradia had never existed.

She awaited news of the signing in Bhujerba with the Marquis Ondore, and without her sister - who had insisted upon staying in Rabanastre to welcome her father when he returned.

The princess was nineteen and knew better now. Still she sat at the feet of the griffon statue before her uncle's desk rather than on any other chair in his office. These childish habits privately comforted her in troubled times.

Tired of wringing her hands, she looked to the Marquis. "Uncle…"

"I know," he murmured, apparently exasperated with his own habit of tapping at his desk. He rose to his feet, impatiently knocking his cane twice on the ground before making his approach to her.

His office doors burst open right as he did, revealing a Bhujerban _sainikah_ who bowed quickly before offering a scroll to the Marquis.

Amiria hopped off the ledge and hurried to her uncle. "What does it say?"

Halim shook his head, still unfurling it. Before long, his fingers trembled with his voice. "Raminas…" he began, blinking away tears as he looked upon his niece. "The captain - Captain Basch - assassinated King Raminas during the signing and has been put to death."

The princess released him, slowly shaking her head. "No… That's - that's impossible. He wouldn't. He would never—"

"And Ashelia," he continued on reluctantly, "grief-stricken, has taken her own life."

"No! It's a lie, uncle. Tell me. Tell me it's a lie," Amiria begged, but the last time she had denied herself the truth, she had lost almost all credibility. She knew this. So she snatched the truth from his hands, nearly kissing the parchment as she read it over and over and over, but the words didn't change. Her uncle Raminas was dead, murdered by a captain she knew to be honorable. That same captain was summarily executed by the empire. And, learning all this… Ashe had killed herself.

"I should've… I should have stayed in Dalmasca with her," she murmured, voice growing in panic, in fury as she went on. "Why did I leave? Why did I allow her to stay behind?!"

Crumpled parchment fell to the floor, soaked with tears as the princess turned to her uncle for comfort. He embraced her in turn, holding her tightly until Halim the Marquis remembered the need to act. Pulling away, he squeezed at Amiria's shoulders and looked at her. "There remains time. You are heir to the union Ashelia and Rasler left behind. Do you understand?"

Amiria met her uncle's gaze in confusion. "M-Me? But I'm only..."

"Once a princess of Nabradia, beloved to the people of Dalmasca. Now the Queen of the united kingdoms of Dalmasca and Nabradia. Amiria. Listen to me."

"I - I - I… I know this. But…" She shook her head. Repeatedly. "What can I do? You saw the letter! They've marched upon Rabanastre, and Ashe died before she was forced to witness it. And Nabradia is... _long gone_."

"Rozarria," said the Marquis through gritted teeth. "The House Margrace has many sons. One, unmarried, closest in age to you: Prince Al-Cid. Unite Dalmasca with Rozarria and fend off Archadia's advance."

Amiria stared at her uncle as though he spoke a language she couldn't comprehend. "Fend them off? They are already in Dalmasca, uncle! You read the letter!"

Halim rubbed a hand over his face. "Then _what_ will you do, Amiria?"

The princess froze at that. She had never been asked such a question, or perhaps the answer had never been so difficult to give. Bound as a princess with duties to the kingdom, but free enough to do as she wished - that was Amiria. She was lucky in that the two concurred - know the people, keep them happy, distract them from their worries. That had become difficult with Nabradia in ruins, with her family in tatters, but her role had stayed the same with King Raminas and Ashe remaining. Now…

Now she was alone. Heir to a necrohol and a kingdom recently invaded. _Queen_.

She gulped. But her nerves wouldn't stop Archadia's advance, and the Marquis continued to watch her.

"I…" Amiria's gaze fell. The answer should have been clear to her, but… "I need time."

"Amiria, there _is_ no time. Not now."

"Please, uncle," she begged, lowering her head. "Just an hour. I'm…"

Halim's eyes softened. "Very well. Shall I have you sent a tonic?"

The woman shook her head. "I only need an hour."

With a curtsy, she departed her uncle's office and set off for her room. The devastation made her stomach churn, but it was strange how steady her steps were on the way there. Of course, she hurried to the bathroom at once and vomited, twice - but she felt resolute after that.

Packing only a few things. Putting on a disguise. Writing a letter that would be found when she was long gone herself. Climbing out of the Marquis's estate from her balcony - she had done this part so many times it seemed as though this decision was meant to be.

It had to be. It must have been why she was so calm, sneaking from the gates and into the streets of Bhujerba. All the way to the Kaff Terraces, staring over the abyss beneath the jagd.

It was only fitting, wasn't it? Father was gone. Rasler was gone. King Raminas was gone. Ashe now, too. Ashe…

Amiria leaned over one of the posts, peering into the clouds, eyes wet. And yet her knees were steady.

She wasn't meant to live without them. Nabradia was completely wiped out. _She_ was Nabradia. What was she without her home? Why not follow? They were dead.

Dead.

She had no business still playing princess.

She lifted one foot into the air.

"You do know nobody's ever died from falling from the skycity, don't you?"

The voice yanked Amiria from her reverie. Suddenly, the edge was frightening, and her hands trembled from the proximity. She fell, nearly threw herself back, and found a pair of slender hands to catch her.

The princess looked up. A handsome hume and a beautiful viera, who glanced at one another when she met their gazes.

"At most," the man continued, "you'll fall to the beasts. And then you'll have a death slower and more painful than you imagined."

"Unnecessary," the viera seemed to scold him. She was the one holding her. But the man only shrugged.

The viera hauled her to her feet and brought her over closer to the steps leading to the terraces. Sat her down.

"I... was supposed to go to the aerodrome," Amiria muttered.

"Wrong way," remarked the man.

For some reason, Amiria took no offense. She felt empty. Empty and yet bursting with the knowledge of what the Marquis would soon announce. The urge to run from her saviors and leap stirred again, but she had to focus or she would lose. Lose what? She didn't even know now.

"I… need to leave," she said, face scrunching up with oncoming tears - but they didn't come. Instead, she looked to the viera, gave her and her companion an appraising look with the little left of her blood. "You… you are not from here."

The viera and the hume exchanged another glance. The latter's eyes widened. "No. No," he repeated. "We don't deal in runaways."

The woman quirked a brow. "Don't we?"

The man gave her a shameless look in turn. "No. Not the royal kind."

Amiria blinked. Lowered her gaze to her neck - the pendant bearing her house's insignia. She was quick to tear it from her neck. "Take it," she pleaded, offering it to either of them. "It doesn't matter now. Please take it. Just let me go with you. Help me get out of here. _Please_."

"It _will_ matter when we're arrested for kidnapping," the man sighed.

"No. I'll - I'll change my appearance! No one would expect it. And you'd give my pendant to my - to the Marquis. Tell him I leapt off, wherever that takes me. He'll go looking below and never suspect it. Please."

The hume pursed his lips. The viera glanced away.

She was the first to speak this time. "You will need a new name; a new disguise as Balthier pawns your pendant."

"What!?" Balthier gawped at her. "Fran. You're considering this?"

"We are in the habit of running away," said Fran, rising to her feet. "She escaped her confines discreetly enough. She has a knack for it."

"I - I do," Amiria gasped, standing now too.

"And we need repairs," Fran said quickly, when she saw Balthier starting to protest again.

The man frowned. Opened his mouth once more - and then shut it. "Understand…" he turned to Amiria instead, since there was no fighting Fran. "Once you choose this, there's no turning back. Is this really what you want? Your uncle will spare no expense in his search for you. You may regret it. You will, sometimes."

Amiria paused… but nodded. "I want freedom. I want this."

Fran and Balthier regarded her at that. It was the pity she hated, but nobody expressed it. Balthier only sighed again. "And the name?"

"You decide," said Fran, gently guiding the princess's hand toward his - to offer him the pendant. "Or do you refuse a woman after your own heart?"

Balthier clicked his tongue as he looked away. But when his gaze fell on Amiria again, it bore the assent she craved. Taking the pendant, he nodded at her. "Anya," he decided, lips pursed, and then he lifted an expectant brow for them. "What do you think?"

The woman took a deep breath. Her thoughts, her responsibilities hounded and clawed at her, but she brushed them away. "Anya. I... like it."

Fran gave her a small smile. "Welcome."

"Don't cause too much trouble," Balthier warned.

"Not as much as Balthier, anyroad," murmured the viera.

Balthier squinted. "Shouldn't you be looking for her new clothes? Finery ill befits a free woman."

Fran wrinkled her nose. "Be on your way, then."

The woman glanced between the two strangers to whom she had given the last of her. It was strange… but she had a good feeling about them. Already she could begin to forget the tragedy that had brought her here. Already she could feel another game beginning.

Balthier stalked off, and Fran offered the woman her hand. "Shall we?"

She accepted, a small smile on her mouth.

Freedom.

Anya reveled in it.

* * *

**Please let us know what you think in a review!** We always love reading them, however short. c: And they're great inspiration.

Or if you have any questions, let us know! We're happy to answer them.

If you prefer an AO3 format, we also have this story posted in our account there named **thepartwhere **:)


	2. The Fête

Welcome back! Has it really been a year? We're so sorry for the wait. Life happened, as usual, and we have no excuses - but our love for FFXII endures. We're working on Chapter 2 of the Necessity of Peace as well!

This might be out of the blue, but since this an AU anyway, we're changing Balthier's age (as of the start of the events of FFXII) to 32. Can anyone actually believe the man is 22? He's got to be at least 30.

We may make references to his age down the line though, so, something to keep in mind so you don't get confused.

* * *

The Games We Play

_**2 **\- The F__ête_

_"Should you really be eating before a performance?"_

_Rasler asked, but his eyes were focused on a memstone recording in his hand. _

_Amiria rolled her eyes, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth to start her reply with. "Shouldn't _you _be preparing for your appearance instead of admiring Ashe?"_

_"I am not admiring," he said, eyes snapping up to his sister. The brief recording of one of the Dalmascan princess's public appearance disappeared. "I'm just trying to see how she pretends so well. I doubt she's changed since we were children."_

_She grinned. "We _were _acting like children. She hated us because we hated her!"_

_Rasler crossed his arms and shrugged. "I suppose we'll see."_

_At fifteen and sixteen years of age, respectively, the prince and the princess of Nabradia still very much acted as they had in their youth when they were alone together. Only the arrival of their father made them right themselves - his daughter in particular quickly finished her cup of ice cream while Rasler rose to bow._

_"Father."_

_King Jenomis smiled. "Are you ready, Amiria?"_

_They hadn't visited for the past two years, but now the time had come for it again. As always, she would lead the Nabradian parade - displaying all her nation's wealth and beauty - with one of Nabradia's famous dances all the way to the castle, and then present her father and brother at the end of it. All to the deafening cheers of the Dalmascan masses, of course._

_Amiria stood, did an artful twirl before the king and then curtsied, her pale dress shimmering in the sunlight peeking through the windows. "Of course, father."_

_"Showoff," Rasler snorted._

_Jenomis laughed. "We will see you at the castle steps, my dear." _

_Their airship was descending now, just a little before Rabanastre's great gates. The parade was prepared behind them, awaiting its princess alone. Amiria kissed her father's cheek, brother and sister squinted at each other, and then the door opened, lowering a ramp for the princess. People had already gathered, the way cordoned off._

_With a grin, Amiria hurried down, leaping off the ramp with a backflip and a bow. Rabanastre erupted with cheers. _

* * *

The Muthru Bazaar was more crowded than it often was early that afternoon. The Empire had elected its new Consul for Rabanastre, and tonight there would be a fête at the Palace to celebrate his arrival. Locals and Imperials alike amassed at the marketplace, all last minute patrons searching for last minute gifts with which to present the Consul, or else food for their own little banquets at home to feel something for the occasion.

"Move!"

Beneath the multicolor swaths of fabric that canopied the bazaar, a metal hand shoved Adela out of the way, sending her barreling into an unhappy crowd. A scaly pair of hands caught her, grunting with some displeasure as they lifted her to her feet. Scoffing, she glared at the Imperial - now interrogating some loiterer. She crumpled the map in her hands with frustration.

"All right there?" asked the man - an orange Bangaa with a narrow snout. He quirked a brow when he saw her face, his gravelly voice taking on a humorous tone. "Adela. Didn't know you were back in town."

"Monid! I didn't expect to see you so soon." Sighing, Adela tried to straighten out the map in her fist. "Were you looking to buy any more Slime Oil?"

Monid raised a small satchel in his hand, a low chuckle rumbling out of him. "Just got them from Riby. The boy knows his trade. More than you soon if you stay away any longer."

Adela smiled. Monid was rarely ever amused. When he was, it was contagious. "If you missed me so much, you could just come along. I'm sure you'll find a Mark on the way."

Monid regarded her, tilting his head, and then grinned. "Got a boy to take care of. Can't go running off with the first pretty hume who invites me to run away with her."

"Of course," she grinned. "Well, you're always welcome to drop by."

"I will," said the Bangaa, and he waved before diving back into the crowd and disappearing from view.

Adela fixed the waistband of her pantaloons and shoved the crumpled map inside her pack. Her off-shoulder, sleeved blouse ended above her midriff, and her now auburn hair rested over her chest in loose waves. Known as a nomad who occasionally returned to Rabanastre to trade her finds, Adela had made good associates among a few merchants in the city, one of them being Migelo and the orphans he had taken in. She was his go-to when customers looked for especially rare plants and items, and in turn he paid her with either gil or pertinent information.

Another sigh, and she turned back and spotted her own stall in the bazaar. It was manned by a little boy named Riby whose ailing mother often shared the stall with her, selling her woven crafts, but today it was only him. He watched her with a small grin as she approached.

"Did you finally get Monid to go out with you?" he asked with a wink.

The redhead wrinkled her nose. "I was attempting nothing of the sort."

"Yeah," said another voice swinging up to her left. A boy with light blonde hair and a vest that looked deceptively empty grinned, leaning on the counter next to Adela. "It's called _flirting_, Riby."

"Vaan!" she frowned, giving his forearm a playful smack. Vaan was one of the older orphans under Migelo's care - the Bangaa often mentioned his growing independence, and hinted at a particularly sorry tragedy surrounding his late brother, which was something to say with his many wards. Of course, she had never pried. "Don't put ideas in his head. Riby's the only sane one out of the lot of you."

Riby nodded. "Johm said he was going to try a few tricks Vaan taught him the other day."

"Riby!" It was Vaan's turn for indignation. Well, it was, and then he laughed. "I mean. Is it my fault? Those Imperials deserve it."

Riby gave him a look. "I saw you this morning. You were _almost _caught stealing from one!"

Adela sighed, getting in behind the stall with the boy with a shake of her head. "Those fingers of yours are going to get you in trouble one day, Vaan."

Vaan only shrugged, flicking the side of his nose with a thumb. "I've got an even bigger plan tonight."

"The fête?" she guessed with a frown. "Don't bite off more than you can chew. The Imperials here might be fun to play with, but the Empire's _real_ forces will be here for the Consul. They won't take offenses lightly."

Vaan wrinkled his nose at her. "You're acting like Penelo. That's no fun."

Adela had never met Penelo - Vaan was the one Migelo often sent her way - but she only shook her head. "Have you ever considered that she might be right?"

Vaan paused, looking almost guilty. Almost. In the end, he shrugged. "Nah."

"Well, I'm not here to stop you… Just be careful you don't end up in Nalbina."

"Never," he grinned confidently.

Riby sighed and watched him leave, spirits as good as ever. "Vaan's definitely gonna get into trouble tonight."

Adela followed his gaze. "Yes. Well. Have you had lunch?"

"Mhmm! Mom says sorry again she couldn't come."

"It's fine," she waved. "She mans the stall here all the time. I'm just dropping by."

"Huh?" Riby was rearranging some of the gil in their coin box. A hume and a viera passed them, glancing briefly toward their stall before moving on. "You're leaving again tonight?"

"Actually, I convinced Migelo to let me assist at the fête tonight. We're supplying him with these delicacies from Bancour, so…" Adela trailed off.

"Ooh, are you going to meet the consul?" Riby grinned.

"Maybe," she smiled. "Though I do need to arrange a few more things - I'll have Migelo send the papers over for your mom. All right?"

"All right," Riby smiled as Adela squeezed out of the stall. "See you tomorrow!"

* * *

"Where is she?"

They sat in a small, empty room in a building at the far back of the bazaar. Lowlit but clean, all it contained was a table and a few chairs and blue-tinted windows that might fool its visitors into thinking it cool in Rabanastre. Fran glanced over at Balthier and didn't answer. Instead, she leaned back against her chair next to him and tried not to catch his contagious yawn.

It was too late for that, but she closed her eyes nonetheless, hand over her mouth.

"Will you remind me why we're doing this?" he asked impatiently. This came as no surprise to her. Balthier hadn't eaten since breakfast, and an empty stomach often left him liable to ill humor.

Fran peeked an eye open. "It is Anya's turn to select a location. She chose Rabanastre."

"No," he drawled, "she chose the fête tonight."

Now Fran's eyes were open, and with a brow slightly raised, she shifted in her seat to face him. Part of her had expected this. "So would you have."

"Well. Yes, but…"

Gathering her thick magnolia tresses and setting them over her shoulder, Fran shot him a look.

Balthier didn't shrink from her beauty, though he was clearly tempted to give into it. "What?"

She smiled. She hadn't expected him to. "Your frustration betrays your worry."

Her hume scoffed. "I'm not worried. She's… a woman grown now, isn't she?"

Fran couldn't help her laugh, prompting Balthier to make a face. He was most handsome when he wasn't so cocksure.

That was when their subject strolled in, trying to flatten out a map in her hands while also locking the door.

"You're late," said Balthier, always quick to point out Anya's mistakes, sometimes unnecessarily. Ever the worrier.

Anya looked up, eyes wide, and beamed as she saw them. Hurrying over with arms wide open, she went to embrace him. "Balthier! I've missed you!"

The man groaned. They all knew she meant it, but she was playing it up for the sole purpose of irritating him. And amusing herself, of course. "That's quite enough," he huffed, though his arms opened for her in turn, ringed fingers ruffling her wavy red hair. "And when is the last time you took a bath, _Adela_?"

Laughing and pulling away, the pirate who played nomad put on a thoughtful expression. "I think it might've rained once in the Plains a few days ago."

"Ugh!" Balthier groaned, making a poor attempt to shake her off in jest.

Anya was good-natured enough to let him, and took a step back so she could look upon Fran. Fran couldn't help but open her arms. Anya _was _a woman grown, but the warmth between them, forged in fire and several heists for the last two years, would never fade. A moment passed as they embraced, and Anya pulled away.

"It's good to see you, Fran," Anya smiled. "Even if Balthier only ever treats me like a burden."

Balthier rolled his eyes. "Did I say such a thing? I said _you need a bath_."

"I did!" Anya laughed, though from the way she pursed her lips, Fran already knew she was beginning to take offense at the joke. What could she do when both her humes were terrible sports?

"You know Balthier jests," Fran cut in, and shook her head at the man. "Shall we proceed with the plan?"

Not one to be cowed, Balthier shook his head in return - but this time, he relented. "Very well. Anya."

As Balthier gestured to the table before them, Anya nodded, shoulders straight as she approached. She unfurled her map with a determined huff before she spoke, all business now.

"Migelo has agreed to include me and another in the staff roster tonight. I think Balthier should accompany me, since Fran has her bike." She paused. "Did Nono make the repairs you noted?"

"Of course," Fran shrugged.

Anya nodded. "I heard talk of insurgents in Lowtown, so the Imperials must have as well. Be careful as you enter, Fran. I've seen innocent passersby accused of some conspiracy or another and thrown into Nalbina Fortress at the slightest provocation. I suggest you enter through here." She pointed at one corner of the map, and then traced her finger along the route Fran would take.

The same digit drew their eyes along the messy piece of parchment as she spoke, to another portion that illustrated the floor map for the staff area. "Balthier and I will enter through here with the others, serve a little to ensure Migelo sees me, and then we slip away, through here, and then up the stairs there, down a few hallways to the treasure room."

"And I have the map you drew before," Fran nodded, revealing a map similar to what Anya pressed flat to the table, already marked with her path within the palace grounds. The two of them had privately spoken at length of the plan prior to this, if only because Balthier had dragged his feet about the whole thing.

"Exactly. We just keep our heads down until the time is right. I've given Fran a list of what I know to be the treasure room's contents, but the Stone is what I'm after."

Balthier crossed his arms, cocking his head at her. "Why the Stone?"

Anya met his gaze, emulating the tilt of his head more innocuously. "Believe me when I say it must be the most ancient thing there. As ancient as the palace itself."

"And you know this how?"

"If I didn't know it, this undertaking would be impossible."

Fran glanced between Balthier and Anya, staring each other down, and thoughtfully tapped her lower lip with a finger. "Are you certain you trust Anya's sources, Balthier?"

Anya glanced at the viera in shock, looking hurt, even - but Fran knew what she was doing. Balthier would relent at the implication of distrust.

"Of course I do," he huffed.

Anya's indignation relaxed into a small smile. With a nod, she clapped her hands once, signaling the end of the meeting. "Well - if that's all, I'll return to my stall in case anyone comes looking… Unless you have any questions?"

Fran shook her head, but she knew Balthier well enough to see that he was itching to say something. And so he did, of course. Fran sometimes wished he could express his concern with less spite, but would that still be her hume?

"Are you enjoying your time in Rabanastre?" he asked, eyes on the map and then to her.

"As much as anyone can enjoy the desert heat, crammed next to other merchants who've been hawking their wares all day," Anya answered, meeting his gaze.

Balthier regarded her for a moment. Fran wondered if she should step in yet again, but the man next to her only sighed. With a resigned click of his tongue, he gave Anya a nod. "Good work."

The beam on Anya's face was genuine as she embraced them both and departed.

* * *

The Royal Palace of Rabanastre was something out of a dream. Its great hall had always been grand, but it was noticeably embellished to welcome the new Consul, its gilded walls adorned with new but no less intricate tapestries - not least of which bore Dalmasca's insignia, flanked by that of Archadia and House Solidor. Trapped.

"Rather inelegant, don't you think?"

Anya glanced to her right. His bare arms flexed as he balanced a full tray upon each of them, Balthier in his fête staff uniform followed her gaze high above them.

Her response was a noncommittal hum. "And a little on-the-nose… though the hall is undeniably magnificent."

Of course, to a young woman Anya once knew, it paled in comparison to a castle built over a lake, ensconced in glittering rivers and a roaring waterfall. What was all the gold in Ivalice to waking to the sound of sparrows chirping at her window?

Balthier's sardonic chuckle woke her not to birds, but to a dazzling ballroom filled with eager guests and personages who understood the importance of finding favor with the man who might one day rule Ivalice. Hadn't they once insisted upon holding the kingdom's ground against Archadia's advance? Or perhaps allying with Rozarria? It was only Migelo Anya excused from these thoughts.

Speaking of the Bangaa, he nervously surveyed the hall as various fete-goers congratulated him for such a fine selection for the evening fare. He caught her gaze, glancing between her and an idle Balthier - or a now distant one, since he had noticed Migelo even earlier and had already left her side.

With a nod for the caterer, Anya dove into the fray of guests armed only with alcohol and a dutiful smile. To her fortune, most of them wanted a glass in their hands, and after some time she emerged from it with an empty tray. Now that Migelo had seen her, it was the perfect chance to escape.

To her misfortune, fate released her right into the arms of the night's guest of honor.

She was giving a deferential nod to some self-important man who insisted that she bring him another glass of wine, holding her tray to her chest and ready to do no such thing when she turned and hit what felt like a wall.

"Oh!" Anya gasped, almost offended at the hands that had instinctively grabbed her by the arms at the recoil. But it was Adela who resolved to look up, perfectly apologetic. "I'm so…"

Her eyes trailed the chest of the man who released her once she was steady. Gold, green, and crimson, and the blue emblem over his chest. A prince of House Solidor. Or rather more importantly, the new Consul of Rabanastre.

"...sorry."

Those with whom Vayne had spoken watched her with interest and offense for the Consul, and she took the signal to remember herself and bow low. "Please forgive me, Lord Consul. I should have watched where I was going."

There was a pause, where one might imagine Vayne shook his head. And then he patted her shoulder, urging her to right herself. Reluctantly, Adela did.

"Not at all. It was my mistake." He inclined his head, but he was so much taller than her that he could easily regard her. And strangely at that.

His was such a searching gaze that Anya felt the urge to step back, to turn, to run—but the little left of her father's daughter stood her ground as he gave her a smile. It was impersonal, but to those unaccustomed to them, it was charming enough.

She pursed her lips, returning one herself, and he gave another nod to finally release her. With another bow, Anya fled the hall as calmly as she could.

Balthier was waiting at the corner of an empty service hallway, stroking his hair with some irritation. His cap had flattened it somewhat, and that just wouldn't do.

"What took you so long?" he asked as she saw her approach, but he appeared to forget it upon closer sight of her. Brows furrowing, he reached for her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

Balthier regarded her the same way the reason for her suddenly pallid complexion had, but instead of passing familiarity, his own face held concern. "...If you're certain."

Anya swallowed down all that raced through her mind, especially the necrohol she had only seen in fuzzy memstone recordings. With a nod, she held out her hand, and though Balthier still appeared unsure, he handed her a pack of her clothes and turned around.

The pair set off for their true destination that night, traversing musty hallways that had not been seen by living eyes for two long years. Somehow, it had felt much longer, and yet Anya easily navigated the twists, the turns, and the apparent dead ends that took them further than any hallway might in the ancient castle.

Finally, they met Fran in one of the halls outside the treasure room, waiting for them with an arrow twirling in her hand. She looked up at the sound of their footsteps, but there was no apprehension in her glance. The viera had known from their gait that it was only them.

"Ready?" Anya asked with a grin.

Fran nodded, falling into step with them as they made their way to the chamber, Anya fishing a keystone from her pocket. She took them before what looked like any old wall, and she pressed a hand to it curiously, tracing the markings over it. It was subtle, but they differed from all the rest that surrounded that wall.

"There are two more doors like this right around the hallway. Fran, do you have the keystone I gave you?"

She nodded, but frowned. "Wait."

Balthier glanced up at her. "Problem?"

The viera nodded. "Someone beat us to this place," she murmured. "I hear someone inside."

"What?" Anya snapped, glaring toward the wall.

Balthier bit into his cheek, the telltale sign of his worry. "Anya, stay out here."

"What?" she scoffed. And then she laughed. "No."

Balthier turned on her, giving her a speaking look. "Anya. If it turns out to be an Imperial, we'll need an escape route."

She grumbled. Standing guard was the worst. "Fine. I'll take the third door. There are stairs there that can take us to the courtyard, if we need a quick exit."

"Very good," Fran grinned at her. "And I will enter from the second."

"And I will confront our thief," said Balthier. "I'm certain they can be persuaded to share the spoils."

"And if they're not?" Anya frowned.

Fran set a hand on her shoulder. "Then Balthier must accept condign punishment. His pocket money for our next supply run—what say you?"

"Our next _two _supply runs," Anya said.

"What?" Balthier gawped at them in disbelief. "This treasure can't possibly be worth two supply runs."

Anya and Fran mirrored each other's incredulity as they set it upon the pirate, who could only his eyes. He held up two fingers. "Very well. The next two supply runs, but no more than you regularly purchase."

"All right," said Anya, sharing an elbow bump with Fran before handing Balthier her keystone. "I'll keep an eye out. Do be quick about it."

With a playful eyeroll, Balthier waved her away, and the trio set about the treasure room. Anya reluctantly did as asked, taking her post by the third door to the small treasure room. She had no doubt there would be no one here - as visible as this particular area was, the entrance to the treasure room was so inconspicuous that the Imperials who had no doubt searched every inch of the palace would never think to send guards here for the fete.

Still, it was strange to hear angry bellows outside…

Not that she had the time to pay it any mind.

Suddenly, the door she was guarding burst open. Anya whirled, meaning to stop whoever stumbled out of it - but the shock of that answer stunned her in place.

"Vaan!" she gasped.

He'd run past her in a panic, but he glanced back. "Adela? What are you doing here—? Run!"

The boy snatched her wrist with his free hand and dragged her through a door, and she just caught her own feet to keep apace.

"Wait!" she snapped, pulling her hand back, causing him to skid to a stop. She reached for his hand instead.

He yanked it away from her, unwilling to let her take it, and glanced behind her in a panic. Searching for pursuers. "Adela, now's _not _the time! We gotta go!"

_Adela _was busy staring at his other hand - the one that held a precious orange stone in its tight grip. Her heart pounded with the alarm in Vaan's voice as he ran ahead, only to stop at the sight of soldiers thundering out to the courtyard.

"Imperials," he muttered, and turned instead to the stairs leading to the upper floor of the castle. "Adela, come on! What's going on with you?"

She eyed only the stone. "Vaan, give me that Stone."

"What?" Vaan took a step back from her, glancing between the suddenly unfamiliar woman and the treasure in his hand. "No… Are you…?"

Anya met his gaze now. "Give it to me."

"No!" Eyes wide at her betrayal, Vaan darted away from her and up the stairs.

Footsteps were gaining behind them, but Anya wasted no time giving chase. She practically flew up the steps as Vaan pushed past another pair of wide doors, which let him out into the courtyard balcony.

If either of them thought there could be anything more surprising than seeing one another by the treasure room that evening, they would soon find themselves sorely mistaken. Below the balcony, all across the courtyard was the clamor of men and steel - above, the angry hum of spinning glossair rings signaled what felt like the full might of the Western Armada.

"What's going on…?" Vaan murmured, peering over the balcony edge.

The answer came this time in the form of cannon fire, bursting from the warship above and hurtling toward the castle steps. Screams lit the courtyard alongside flame and smoke as the explosion threw those below off their feet, though Vaan wasn't spared the recoil.

It did the same to Anya, propelling her forward, and she tumbled into a crouch as Balthier caught up behind her.

"The Ifrit, eh?" he remarked coolly, keeping to his feet as he reached down and yanked her up by the arm. "Impeccable timing. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were waiting all along."

The cannons fired again, and Anya covered her mouth at the smoke and the debris that rose even to their level. "Where's Fran?" she groaned.

"She's—hey! Stop running!" Balthier yelled out.

Vaan didn't care to listen - he had bolted forward again, never mind that he was rushing toward a dead end. Anya gave chase, tearing from Balthier's grip to do so, but it was Fran's turn to make an entrance - skimming the side of the balcony on her bike, little glossair rings for wheels glowing blue, she sped past Vaan and blocked his exit.

"End of the line," Balthier announced, catching up with them. "You have something that belongs to _us_."

He held out his hand with little effort, completely contrary to the way Anya now stalked toward him. "Hand it _over_, Vaan."

"No!" Vaan glanced between them, though his gaze settled more fearfully upon the woman he thought he knew. "Adela—"

The noisy stomping of metal greaves interrupted their scene. "More this way!" cried an Imperial.

"Damn," Balthier groaned, and bolted forward. "Fran, Anya—let's go!"

Fran nodded, and the small glossairs in her bike whirred as she drove back off the balcony.

Anya turned to him in disbelief and reluctance. "Balthier!"

He turned to her in a similar fashion - only he was right in his bewilderment. Treasure had never meant more to her than escape. Why now? Luckily, the reproach in his gaze brought her back to her senses. With a furious huff, she turned for the railing, climbed the edge, and leapt off.

Vaan gasped at the sight, a cry dying on his lips, but he couldn't even see what fate awaited the woman he didn't really know - a blanket of smoke billowed from the courtyard now, obscuring the ground from view. All he knew at that point was that he needed to run _away _from the Imperials, and he turned to run - only to find Balthier suddenly rushing him, easily picking him up off the ground and throwing them both off the ledge.

He screamed, all the things he still wanted to do, all the things he still wanted to say to the people in his life running through his mind in a flash—

"Hah!"

Only for a hand to snatch him from the air, leaving him dangling over the smoking courtyard. He was almost relieved until he saw who it was - the thief who was friends with not-Adela, sitting in the back of a bike while not-Adela and the woman that obviously made their trio sat in the front.

"Let go of me!" Vaan cried, stupidly.

"Keep this up and I will!" groaned the man, and looked ahead with long-suffering confusion. "What's going on!?"

Ahead of them, Anya was trying to guide Fran through any possible escape route to no avail. No matter which way Fran attempted to steer her bike - which was to say, up and _away_ from the carnage below - all it did was move steadily downward, swaying rebelliously against the viera's control.

"I don't know, it's not heeding me!" Fran yelled back.

"I don't have time for this," Balthier muttered. They were low enough now to see beneath the smoke, close enough to the ground to catch the attention of any soldier or insurgent who might just look up.

"I'm slipping!" cried the least of their problems, finally trying to help Balthier pull him up instead of wildly kicking his feet around.

Balthier dug his fingers into Vaan's arm, but he was starting to slip away faster. "Not good!"

Those were the exact same words on Fran's mind when Ifrit's cannons fired into the courtyard yet again, sending smoke and rubble flying everywhere - and just as Balthier had managed to get a good grip on Vaan's forearm, too. Unnerved by the bike's imminent failure, the viera braced herself, glancing over her shoulder.

"Anya, hold on!"

"Fran!" the woman gasped, having obeyed the order before she could even finish it. She wrapped her arms around the viera, ready, too, for the worst.

The bike's small glossair rings let out their last hum, their last sputter of light amid the courtyard din, and all Balthier and Vaan could do was scream as they spiraled down into naught but darkness.

* * *

By the way, we hope you guys are doing all right during this time. Please stay in if you can, and wear a mask to protect others and yourself. If you're an essential worker or have family members who are, or are simply forced to work because you have to, we hope you guys stay safe as well :(

Thanks for reading! See you next chapter. We promise it won't take a whole year next time. We've missed these characters!

And to our Guest who reviewed: Thank you so much for your kind review last year! Honestly thought about your review a lot when trying to write for this amid everything! We hope you're doing well :)

We'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below! :D


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